Better to Die a Hero Read online

  Crap, no ride home.

  Bryan had been a no show at school today, probably another bout of explosive diarrhea. His friend had no will power when it came to stuffing his face with junk food. The run home meant nothing now, considering how he would have to hold back. The once important activity would now be a monotonous endeavor. It couldn’t compare with running the rooftops. There were other considerations also. His choice of baggy clothes camouflaged his recent weight loss, but a change in the locker room might get his improved physique noticed. Determined to keep the vow he made, not to be the one that got them caught, a long walk home looked unavoidable.

  The senior accepted his fate and headed off campus. He immediately began weaving an intricate fantasy that had him saving the girl’s life, all while suffering an arrow through his shoulder. He broke from his thoughts only long enough to recognize the category of daydream. In class, he’d learned it was called ‘the wounded hero daydream’. He’d had his fair share of those. A familiar double honk from the parking lot caught his attention.

  “Hey dude,” Steve said, hopping in the passenger side of Bryan’s hatchback. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

  “I decided to play hooky today. I’ve earned it. I mean how many days of school have I ever missed?”

  “Not many,” Steve said, searching the interior of the car for an aging milk carton or rotting banana. Not finding anything, he leaned over and gave Bryan’s shoulder a sniff. He recoiled from the odor. “No offence buddy,” Steve said fanning his wrinkled nose, “but you stink.”

  “Sorry, I went patrolling last night. All night.” He rolled the driver side window down. “I didn’t get to take a shower this morning.”

  “You stayed out all night! Your dad is going to go postal.” Steve rolled down his window. “Dude, you don’t want that kind of heat.”

  “I don’t give a shit. I’ve got bigger things on my mind and if he gets in my face I’ll get back in his.”

  “Wow!” Uncomfortable with the images of that confrontation, Steve changed the subject. “I guess we’ll see you in the news tonight.”

  “I don’t think so. I hid in the shadows fairly well.” He sniffed the air around him, but failed to detect any odor. “I was only seen by a handful of people. The kind of people that don’t call the police.”

  “What kind of people are those?” Steve asked, sticking his face out the window for a gulp of fresh air.

  “Just street people... lowlifes.” Bryan lifted his arm and buried his prominent nose in the pit. “Woo wee.” This time his facial contortions were involuntary. “I do stink. That’s like sour or something. You’ve been going to the gym. Is this what it smells like if you don’t shower after running?”

  “No,” Steve said. “The only time I’ve ever smelt something like that is when my Aunt would have this one friend over.” Steve paused and stuck his face out the window again. “She would sit there playing cards sweating until beads rolled down her face. George said it was her diet.” Steve chuckled. “You know, you have the worst diet of anyone I know, even my own.”

  “Crap. I might actually have to start eating right.” Bryan pounded the steering wheel and shook his head in disbelieve. The sacrifices he would have to make were starting to add up, exercising and proper diet. “You know though, maybe I could forget eating right and odor could be like a power. I could use offensive b.o. to distract the villains.”

  “There’s an idea.” Steve laughed nervously, ninety percent sure his pal was kidding. “Let’s get to my place. You can toss your clothes in the wash and take a shower. By the way, if you didn’t go home after patrol and you didn’t come to school where have you been all day?”

  “I changed out of my costume around five and headed back to Queens and man, I got so tired I had to pull over and sleep in the car. I only woke up a couple of hours ago.”

  “Where’s your costume?”

  “In the trunk, why?”

  “Because, I’m staying clear when you carry it inside.”

  * * *

  Steve had attempted to engage his friend in one of their so-called geeky conversations. Implausible as it seemed, Bryan had lost interest in computer games and role-playing, even to the point of ignoring his Internet characters. Steve had forced himself to stay away from online gaming. He had watched friends become addicted and burn hours every day running characters on the web. For Steve, it would have been one more sedentary activity that placed his butt in a chair. Just a few months back he had made a New Year’s resolution to lose weight. He remembered setting a goal of losing thirty pounds by graduation, promising himself all kinds of rewards when he succeeded. The resolution and incentives had lost meaning. After all, his recent physical improvements had nothing to do with will power.

  Reluctantly, Steve added a few of his own items to the wash load containing the stinky costume. Years under his Aunt Pat’s tutelage made running anything under a full load induce guilt equal to homicide. The trench coat Bryan had borrowed probably reeked of the same sour smell. Some later time, probably after their next patrol, Bryan would offer the coat back. Steve would refuse and make a gift of it. Maybe the coat should have held more sentimental value, after all, his father had worn that coat. The sword was the best piece in the collection, probably his father’s most prized possession. The sword was the connection to his deceased father.

  Several hours passed as the two waited for Nora. When Bryan’s face wasn’t buried in an Internet porn site, he went on about the powder and his plans after he learned to duplicate it, plans that included “recovering” money from the mafia, investing in the stock market and building a headquarters. Bill Gates was on the short list of possible candidates to run the organization, while Bryan led the team or possibly teams of superheroes. Steve didn’t mind listening to the exuberant reverie, at least not after Bryan changed into a fresh costume.

  “I’ll tell you what excites me the most about this powder,” Bryan said, pacing like a kid on sugar, “this internal telekinesis idea of mine. Our bodies are instinctively slowing down as we fall, like some kind of reflex. And we seem to be able to subconsciously move our momentum in the right direction when we leap.” He paused and looked up, reverence swept across his face. “I believe some day we will be able to fly.”

  “Wow,” Steve said, “do you really think so?”

  “Yes I do.” He sounded as confident as he did in chemistry class or any other subject for that matter. “We have the ability to affect the movement our bodies with the power of our mind even if it doesn’t seem to be conscious. If we can do that, can let’s say, levitation be that far away? And after we’ve levitated, our bodies suspended in mid air, is pushing our bodies in a certain direction that farfetched?” Bryan read the doubt in Steve’s face. “I’m not saying that we could fly like a Cessna or even a bird for that matter.” He paused and sniffed his armpit. “If there is an ability, however slight, to move our bodies with the power of thought, then increasing that ability is not that farfetched.”

  “I see where you’re coming from,” Steve said. “So how do we get to this increased ability?”

  “I’m glad you asked that my friend.” Bryan reached out, his fingers caressing the antique bottle. “We could get lucky and over time this telekinesis grows stronger and we train ourselves to fly. But how much more luck can we have? No, I think I will probably have to spend a few years in the lab tweaking the formula to affect the part of the brain that controls this power. We’ll stick you and Nora in a Computerized Axial Tomography, CAT scanner for you lay persons, shoot you full of improved powder and watch the colors change in your cerebral cortex and then kick your ass out of an airplane. I’m not so sure we couldn’t jump out of a plane right now and land safely. We may not be able to fly, but we might just land safely.”

  “I was thinking something similar, not a plane but maybe a sky scraper.” Steve scratched his head. “I know I don’t have the balls to do it. I’ll have to go one story at a time. You know, start
with say six stories and go up slowly from there. Can you imagine what it would look like to have femurs break though your thighs when you landed?”

  “Oddly enough, I can imagine what that might look and sound like. My instincts tell me that it doesn’t matter what height we fall from, we slow down and hit the ground at the same velocity. The question is would I put my balls on the line and go for it.” Bryan grabbed his acne cream off the dresser and headed for the bathroom.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to put that shit on every hour,” Steve said, “When that crap kicks in you are going to dry up like a prune.”

  “Believe me,” Bryan responded, “I am looking forward to it.”

  * * *

  Steve ducked behind the ledge of the South Bronx rooftops where his friends were crouching. He poked his head up and took another quick look at the man standing in the darkness one rooftop away. They might have missed him altogether had it not been for the cigarette glowing in the night. The man’s lighter illuminated his position.

  “Must be a chain smoker,” Steve said, drawing his head back. “I should go tell him about the hole in my uncle’s throat.”

  “Did you guys see what I saw?” Bryan asked.

  “I saw a camera around the guy’s neck,” Nora said

  “I didn’t see crap,” Steve said, “I swear I used to have some kind of heightened perception, now I’m as dumb as I ever was.”

  “You’re not eating enough sugar, I’m not kidding.” Bryan said. He began talking in a whisper. “For now it’s important that we call each other by our character names. I don’t want to hear anyone using our real names. I know that sounds stupid, but that guy not only has a camera, but I saw one of those long distance microphones. They look like a small satellite dish. If he points it in our direction, everything we say could be recorded.”

  “People are out hero spotting,” Nora said, “The first pictures and videos of us are probably worth a lot of money.”

  Bryan nodded. “That’s exactly right. You two have got to start taking this seriously. If we get caught, someone will take the powder away. That cannot happen. I can’t let that happen. Why don’t you two stay here and make out for a while. I’ll draw this guy away.” Bryan didn’t wait for comments. He bounded off in superhuman fashion in the smoking man’s direction.

  You two stay here and make out, Steve thought, that wasn’t the signal.

  “What did he say?” Nora asked.

  “Like I said he’s taking this stuff way too seriously.” Steve took off his masks. “Sorry about that make out thing, Bryan can be really obnoxious when he wants.”

  “That’s Okay,” Nora said, leaning against the ledge they were hiding behind. She patted the grainy surface beside her. “Scoot over and talk to me.”

  Steve moved closer and Nora hooked her hand around his bicep and leaned her head on his shoulder. She knew just how to put him at ease. Did she sense his nervousness at making a first move and intentionally get it out of the way or was she acting on impulse, unaware of how perfect she acted. He appreciated this very much; it was exactly what he needed from a woman. He was smart enough to know that he didn’t have the savvy or experience to maneuver through the relationship minefield like the teenagers in the nighttime soap operas. Of course, he had an inclination that these teen shows didn’t reflect reality, but they were all he had to go by. He’d spent too much time engaged in fantasy role-playing and Sci-Fi endeavors to notice the world around him. He remembered once seeing a role-playing game on dating and romance. He chuckled at the idea of setting that up on Saturday night. His friends would have de-pants him.

  “What are you laughing about?” Nora asked, raising her head.

  “Just about how totally dumb I am about girls,” he answered. “To be honest with you, I really don’t have a clue.”

  “You’re doing fine,” she assured, then rested her head back on his shoulder. “You know I’m going to school this fall, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “What are you going to do after graduation?”

  “I’m going to take computer science classes at Queens College, that way I can live at home and save money.”

  “Your education will end up costing a lot less than mine and you could end up making just as much money. My father knows a man who doesn’t even have a degree and makes eighty-thousand dollars a year installing computer networks.” The reassuring Pat she gave his arm turned into an exploration of his developing muscularity. “Wow, you are turning into a hard body.” She ran her fingers through his hair. His double chin was shrinking, exposing a sharp jaw line. The roundness in his cheeks almost gone, his shapely lips were now more fully emphasized and quite striking. “And you’ve lost a lot of weight Steve, oops, I mean Mon-duck.”

  Steve laughed. “That’s Mongoose.”

  “Can I call you Goose for short?” she teased, squeezing his arm just right.

  Her charm gave him the courage he needed to make a move. “You can call me anything you want to.” He placed one hand on her shoulder and the other around her middle. He gently pivoted her and directed her back into his lap. She moved willingly into position and looked up at his handsome face.

  He lowered to meet her lips.

  “Hey, hey what are you doing?” Her eyes widened with surprise.

  “I…I…,” Steve stammered, and began to pull away.

  “Just kidding.” She smiled most beautifully, placed her hand gracefully behind his head, and drew his lips to hers.

  * * *

  An hour passed before Bryan made his way back to the rooftop where he had left his friends. He made his arrival purposefully noisy to give the two lovebirds notice.

  “Hey guys,” Bryan said, waving, “not much happening out there in the way of crimes.” He sat down cross-legged near the others. “Every third building has some goof looking out their windows with cameras and binoculars and there are people camped out on a couple buildings. Did anyone bother you guys?”

  “No, we didn’t notice anyone,” Nora answered and winked at Steve.

  “I think we should call it a night,” Bryan said, “There’s nothing happening out there.”

  “Now that’s unusual,” Steve said, “I thought for sure you were going to try to keep us out all night.”

  Bryan rubbed his stomach and cleared his throat. “Actually, remember how I was supposed to start eating better. Well I am going to start soon, but in the mean time I might have something brewing.”

  “I see,” Steve said, looking for Nora’s take on the situation.

  “Okay with me,” she said, standing up and wiping off the seat of her pants. “It would make my mom and dad happy if I got home at a decent time for once. I do have one favor to ask.”

  The boys agreed even before she asked.

  “This is the only time I really get to bust lose and it’s like I almost have to or I’ll have too much energy stored up. Can we run just ten or so rooftops? That should get it out of my system.”

  “Can you wait that long Bryan?” Steve asked.

  “No problem. But I think I’ll drop to the car and drive the distance. I can pick you guys up at the end.” He studied all directions. “I’m going to go that way,” he pointed, “no use going the way I just came, it was really dead.”

  Steve loved running the rooftops with Nora. The acrobatic prowess she displayed maneuvering the course was astonishing. Cartwheels, handsprings and implausibly complex flips littered the route she took. If Steve ever came close to buying into Bryan’s visions of a super team, it was when he watched Nora tumble.

  “You’re magnificent!” he hollered.

  CHAPTER 11

  Guilt, more out of habit than anything else, plagued Steve as he rinsed the Rocky Road from a bowl that only minutes ago overflowed with the creamy delight. It was early Saturday morning and cooking a proper breakfast was too complicated. The last of the cold cereal was for his uncle, so the frozen fat presented a quick solution to his hunger. The gu
ilt vanished as fast as the ice cream once the ever-more-fit teen contemplated the exercise he planned to get come evening. The calories burnt on patrol would more than make up for this little relapse. In fact, he planned to sweat off so many calories that he added a dozen nutritional bars to the shopping list. The sharp senses and acute awareness that came with taking the powder dulled dramatically at the end of an intense rooftop run.

  “The brain wants fuel regardless of how strong the body is,” Steve said.

  George looked up from the paper. “What’s that son?”

  “Nothing, I was just thinking out loud.”

  A frantic doorbell interrupted their comfortable silence. Considering the number of chimes ringing out, Steve didn’t bother picking up a towel but rather dried his hands on his pants while hurrying to the front door.

  Nora rushed past. “I have to talk to you.” Close to tears, she raced up the stairs. The billowing cigarette smoke parted violently around her petite body as she cut a path upward. She barged into the bathroom connected to Steve’s room and placed herself in front of the mirror.

  Steve stepped in. “What’s wrong?”

  “This.” She sniffled, and pointed to her face. A large oval bump an inch long, red and swollen lay just under her cheekbone.

  “Ouch.” Steve recognized it as the deep painful acne that tended to leave scars. He had rarely seen one this bad.

  “And this.” She flipped up a section of hair from her temple, exposing a bald spot the size of a nickel, and almost as round. She dropped her hair and broke down sobbing into her hands.

  “Oh honey.” He put his arm around her and walked her out of the bathroom to the bed where they sat. She cried into his chest. He gently stroked her head. There was something odd about the tears as they rolled down her cheek. He caught one tear on his fingertip, held it up to the light and trembled—it was translucent red.